Margaret DuPres
by Daryl Wor
Summary: Side series of post-marriage vignettes in connection with "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" Contains notes & details as to how this is accomplished and aspects of original DS necessary to gel the re-write as well as why Kitty Soames is necessary for this. Also has parts with Mr. Loomis reflecting on details when he claims a girl, too, on the Collinwood roof! (4 new chapters await)
1. Chapter 1: When I Entered

_This story is a side series of love scenes related to my other work, "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows". It began as a single hour of visualization that went places I didn't expect in my mind. I did the visualizing for the purpose of post-coital dialogue to see what they would say to each other afterward. More chapters continued with the onset of a cold I got that lasted over a month. I listened to certain songs and albums to get more of a soundtrack for it. I also read works by Vladimir Nabokov to get a feeling of more metaphoric language than stories of this type. I've never written smut before and I was more comfortable with this style._

_A friend of mine who reads a great deal of pornography has told me she loves it and has never seen anything like it before, though these characters are more or less unknown to her. As my cold set in I found more coming out, but it's very precious to me so the last 3 chapters can't be posted yet. I'd rather not simply give them away. They were terribly difficult to pen. _

_I assure my readers, each line has been carefully crafted, and honed. Please read carefully. _

.*.*.*

**Yes, it's Josette, they're married, they're vampires... they're repressed... and She takes every opportunity that She can to overwhelm him with it. **_(Happy Valentine's Day. :)_

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

When I entered Her it was the beginning of the most engrossing passion of my life… and when I say my _life_, I do admit to having this encompass who I am from the end of a scepter most obvious and to the provisions of a love most grand.

Of course, when we had stepped into this room, she knew that to have me there with her, was to remember an incarnation she knew and remembered easily. What else would this existence be for? But to engage in an act so deep and bewitching? That's what we were here for… of course…

It _was_ her room, the proof had been made clear. She was the same girl that I loved so long ago, not only in her looks, in her very flesh, but her soul had spoken the truth. Josette _had_ come back to me. I had not been so absurd to incarnate her in my mind, just a terrible fool compelled with bloodlust and a long absence of being alive, to see how to bring her out again. Others had to make this possible, and in this way, I know now, I am not alone, was not alone. And here she was again, for me, _for us_.

With her brown hair, almost auburn and her form, so beguiling I took all in my hands and possessed her, as she had never let me possess her before. The point is, that she had forgiven all I had done and… perhaps was prepared to chain _me_ as I had chained her and I was ready for it. Believe me.

The fear… I had… was uncertain. I most likely deserved anything I received, after threatening punishment so much, but at this point I could not care less. I wouldn't mind being wrestled to the ground and whipped as I deserved.

The incessant love I felt for my beloved Josette, was imploding on destiny toward this new bride, who was both _her_ and Miss Evans. And I felt it was an unknown temptation of scintillation, upon every aspect of my skin. What cared I for the blood of other mortals… when the blood of her inner soul was all that mattered to me?

Of course she bit me with rage, and shackled me to her bed with her fists… and all that was glorious in it is unknown to any other mortal… not that *I* was that, of course. And neither was she at this point. She felt down my front with her hands and lips and a sharp pain took me on one side below. As she drained the blood from my hip I cried out in ecstasy… but that was only the beginning.

As my loins sprang to life, she licked the wounds she inflicted and I could only stare through her canopy, into the cracks of the ceiling and wonder. Had it really been so long? So long that this house had stood without so much love and drawn out with so many moaning ghosts? Oh… but *would* they ever moan as _I_ was moaning now?

She now laid above me and we were one. In and out I flowed within her, the place where all life might begin, if I hadn't been so cursed to see it at the neck instead, but rather down below. She knew and will always know, what could please me. I _had_ known that! My pulse throbbed with the intensity as she came upon me and we kissed… She responded violently, smarting my lips, but I welcomed it, her ivory pale legs wrapping around me in the thrust and jab of all that meant total completion between us.

I caressed her ribs and, of course, the _nearby regions_, not only her maternal flesh, but all surrounding. She had her own tones of approval, leaning to kiss me, as she absorbed my breath in the inhale of a whisper.

Of course, there was only candlelight in this room, but it lightened her precious lips, which glistened upon my sight and intoxicated me further. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't. To look upon this love of which I'd desired so ceaselessly, as I'd pined so longingly, and finally _had_… after suffering the long awaited forgiveness only she could allow me. And of course, I had to release all inhibition of being in _any_ control. It was her, and her alone who could be in control… of _me._

What did I care, though? As we rolled off the bed and throughout the room, colliding from wall to wall, from one furnishing to another… all cares melted away, and her laughter echoed with the fall of the objects from her vanity table… not that she was vain… Oh no! _I'd_ prepared those things for her. And she had proven to me… that all she cared about… was _I_… and the delectation of our long awaited joy… as this was so obvious to me now… and… as we cascaded within each other.

Along the floor we twirled and spun… the bed-clothes trailing around us, her upon me and surrounding me… and I within her, clenching her at the waist… adjusting to the furthest reaches of her _inner beauty_, as she clawed at my scalp, then ran her fingers down my neck and sank her teeth into my shoulder.

And her herald… Josette, though identical to her in beauty, and very likely, though not to my knowledge, also like her in the act of love, or perhaps the act of lust? But what is the difference in this instant? A combination of beauty assailed me as we suckled upon each other's flesh. There had been modesty earlier… but tonight? …not a trace could be found between her nor myself as we dined in passion on one another.

Of course, what else would be expected when we rolled so close to the hearth fire and ignited ourselves so close to its flame that the sparks singed our skin? What sweet pain it was, too. Had we not already bruised each other with what had come before? What a comfort it would be to sooth the wounds inflicted by a love so divine?

AND… when I had penetrated her so deeply in that place… that our lovemaking finally shook the portrait off the wall? Did she care? No… _she laughed_… for it was **not** her… _she_, the true her, was there, and I was within her and she was encompassing me so completely. And that was _all_ she cared about.

There may have been no Maggie Evans at all, if I had not loved that Miss Dupres, and met her again over a century later and known this fiery devotion for both. Ha! Of course, _is it not_ like a man, to want more than _one_ woman? And is it not easier for one to enjoy the pleasures of _two_ at once, like this?

One might resent me for enjoying this so thoroughly… but thankfully, who I was with… both in spirit and in _body_ and with intensity… _loved me_… and even if she wanted to chain me down, or lacerate me with either a branding or perhaps simply her exquisite cuspids, I cared not… as long as she stroked me, as long as she loved me… as long as she lovingly hurt me with a pain so unyielding as to set my sinews aflame.

"And what did you think of that?" I asked later, as we lay in each other's arms upon her bed, "shall you tell me?"

"As we sit in the dark, Barnabas," she answered, "and you let me whisper… I will."

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_I think this revision does more justice to Josette reincarnated. Upon analyzing this set of stories further I think I understand this fear gained by Barnabas. The unbelievable concept that he could finally have this bride through remarkable circumstances leaves him in a vulnerable state of affection. _

_Considering Josette went over Widow's Hill under circumstances of decisions he made, but weren't necessarily his fault, shows himself to be a monster. Returning 170 odd years after ward, having lost cognizance over all the details and likely a full memory of Josette (again I fill in continuity gaps) Maggie Evans was originally a symbolic trophy of Josette rather than the real thing, and thus in his madness he kidnaps her, trying to brainwash her into what little he can recall of his Josette._

_In "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" this yearning is revisited in a hypnosis regression where Maggie has trouble recalling that she IS indeed Josette as it is blocked by the repressed kidnapping. The two recollections conflict with one another. Before she can go back to that time period where Josette perished in 1795 she has to face the fact of being kidnapped, which had been blocked by Dr. Hoffman. After this is faced, her identity as Josette comes out.  
_

_With these factors in tow he has to earn forgiveness from this double, (or triple) entity of his love. Upon achieving this he is completely at her mercy, accepting this fate willingly._

_And, as any complex woman whose reached that far might do, she takes advantage of it._


	2. Chapter 2: The Whom of Many

_I would like to express that I knew about how heavily Julia/Barnabas stories are desired, though perhaps even more strongly than I predicted. For any past readers or listeners to "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" I was as careful as I could be with Julia, as well as in this story._

_On Dark Shadows I have never seen Barnabas make a pass at Julia except to toy with her affections, which of course I didn't like. Later on there were musings they married but this was never aired on television, which I try to stick with. _

_I also did not like that Dr. Julia Hoffman would be playing 2nd fiddle as a romantic option to Barnabas. I felt she deserved someone who would make her the leading role in his life, so I chose someone of an academic variety that I felt would suit her better. I hope that assuages any quick assumptions. (And I'm not all that fond of her personal experiments going foul on DS either. I felt her character deserved better than that.)_

Chapter 2: The Whom of Many

As I've allowed to express the experience of this strange and unique plight in my love-life, I must again analyze its insistent confusion of fate. What She was, what We are, has left a craving in me to explain the tale. Perhaps more for myself than for anyone else.

You might understand, or perhaps defer to reference, that this woman of whom I love so intensely, is not simply a single woman unto herself. She is at least three, and I have "known" them. So I must explain that **one** in between. THAT was the one who made it all clear. Kitty Soames, or Lady Hampshire.

She was, sadly, the obvious crux of this entire escapade in my love for the original that flew off the cliff so many years ago. Why my Kitty felt compelled to drink of poison, as my mother had done, still escapes me with a wet-eyed glow of compassion. And confusion. However, it is likely her own confusion of knowing so well who she had been and what had become of us that makes this tale a needed one. As my father-in-law has said, there must have been some reason she continued to try and return to me through the centuries. And I in my singular life, as long as it is, can only wonder at the misery I've put my darling through. As grateful as I am at the result.

Kitty, was, indeed, so tightly bound in her corsets as to be almost waif-like. And it pained me to see my Josette in such a state. But likely worse, to see her still crying out to me, still searching to find me, and I am ashamed as such in my attempts to let her go, but not being able to. And in that magnificent dress, she was truly the purple rose of my longing.

Had I known of her existence when I awoke in this time, perhaps I may have been less diabolical in my plans. Though, how one can be so calculating after so much time had passed, with I in this new time period, does assuage some guilt in my terrible actions.

Kitty, my beauty, for who I both mourn and am grateful to have again in this Margaret, dazzles my interest. And if it were not for her, it may not have been so obvious what was happening to us. Something was trying, and when one looks at the chronology of our history, to keep us alive, and to gather us together at that alter of union. And she was brave to come out and say so. Of course it tickles me that she recognized our tormentor, Angelique, and immediately went to throttle the life out of her. For this… Kitty is the name I often use when I see that sweet justice again, in my Maggie.

Of Angelique, I say, that though Josette may have been born to high regard, if anyone has taken the chance to notice, of all the other people with expectations of servants, Josette was the one who treated her like a friend. This makes all that tormenting, both between us, and our families, the worse for it. The one person who wanted to give Angelique the attention she craved, Angelique smote worse than any of the others. And Josette understood, as we all do now, what Angelique's true problem always was: Neglect. Though we hope this can be rectified. There *is* a man who can love her, and it certainly isn't me. Though even with him, she'll have to earn it, and earn it righteously.

Then Kitty took her own life, and as my Maggie has said, it could not be helped, though we still have that longing for Kitty, even now. Though, sometimes when She looks at me, when She speaks with a certain inflection, I know Kitty is there, within her… and when I've engulfed my passion toward her, she tells me she knows, and she _feels_ it. Whether it's a kiss, or whether it is when we imbibe upon each other in that room which belongs to ALL of them, I know she exists. I know she is there, and I know, that all of those three… are **one.**

As for Maggie… who I aim to make right among all of the others, she has told me, in retrospect, just what those night terrors were about.

Oh? You don't remember? The night terrors that sent her screaming out from her own handsome profiled sleep? Those were her evidence of what was to come. The knowledge of all her previous conditions to me, and the future knowledge of the terrible acts I would inflict and forever wish a rotten heart upon myself for. That is the vile aspect of reincarnation… sometimes we not only _know_ what has gone before… but what is… to occur.

The lovely thing of all this is, she knows what ought to be and does it with exquisite divinity. As always, in all her lives, she is not one who likes to idle, and that is the sadness for those who cannot know her. Others see her as sweetness _only_, a trifling happiness and without any complexity. But *I* know better, as do her entourage for which I take up my pen to explain these things.

But what of our Julia? _Poor_ Julia, as some may say. That is something for which I must address because I think so many believe her to be otherwise than I know her.

Dr. Julia Hoffman, must be described above both woman and doctor. And that is the troubling approach in all of this. That people see her only as a woman and _not_ as a doctor, to which she likely has struggled to fight the conventions of her time to prove herself. As I pen these diaries, I have to admit, that her happiness is my happiness, and to see her with that other gentleman is not only a blessing but a fitting condition. You see, as her own previous incarnation with another man… _they _have also returned, to help with the curse they inflicted on my own cousin. And so these things are all working out, as Maggie and Mr. Evans has told us they may.

Julia, has been such a close friend, many would believe her to be a lover. Of course, that is the expectation of the gullible romantic. But Dr. Hoffman is far above this, you must know. And considering how many of the male persuasion in her line of work have shown vaguely superior, it IS an unfairness grotesque to her own ability to decipher problems. They've told me something of this period of time of women's liberation… Well, is it really so liberating when one contemplates only the carnality of a woman? Unfair, **truly** unfair to herself and her profession. And I believe her current paramour knows that… and… so do I.

Thankfully, my own sweet love and my own sweet friend have engaged in a durable bond between each other. Again, I must thank heaven and earth when I see these things. Shan't we all be friends, assisting each other, when all is said and done? I do hope so. And you do realize, that if it wasn't for my heroic Julia, I would not finally have the love I so desire now, nor the love that has so desired _me_ through many generations of wearisome attempts.

Unfortunately I cannot continue with this story just yet. My bride is inviting me, with a winsome eye, to her bedroom. And I'm sure she would be fine with enlightening you on the details of that if anyone requests it. And, as I have noted, from my discussions with our friend Julia, she also is dabbling some disclosures behind certain doors. She has done a great deal of studies in the matters of personal pleasure, and what might light a person's fire. _Ah_… that_ is_ gratifying.

Well, I must pursue this beauty… further… and _deeper_ than before perhaps. And for those out there, in their own wedded bliss, you likely understand what we all are going through. Isn't it lovely?

.*.*.*.*.*.*

_And couldn't it be, though? I'm adding this after thought upon further reflection to this explanation and reactions to who I place Julia with in "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows". _

_Considering this type of writing varies toward preference, which includes major changes in the circumstances of each version depending on the writer, I am continually puzzled at the knee jerk reaction that Julia Hoffman's love for Barnabas Collins can never vary or even be excluded entirely._

_What I've discovered about this style of writing is it tends to be about choice of what some people in common want to see. Obviously, the Julia/Barnabas crowd have been so vocal and so militant that there are likely Barnabas/Josette or Barnabas/Maggie stories we're not seeing at all. It makes me wonder if these writers and dreamers that came before me may have been given harsh treatment and are keeping their stories to themselves, which is why I couldn't find them._

_"Forever Mine" with Josette, on this site is in 1795 and a nip in the bud story. (No Julia) _

_"A Third Option" with Maggie is also a nip in the bud story. (Again, No Julia.)_

_My story, combined with this one, is not only Maggie=Josette, but also incorporates Kitty Soames. And all with Julia. _

_I care about Julia Hoffman and saw through this absolutism of her being with Barnabas and didn't want her to play a second fiddle role as his choice, but have someone else step in to fall in love with her and not a made up character. I carefully made sure she would have what she needed so that all in my story would be pleased. However there is still that almost involuntary reflex that no universe, however alternate, could exist in which Dr. Hoffman isn't swooning over him._

_ I can already think of 3 different techniques here that would make her not in love with Barnabas and easily placed._

_1) Alternate Universe: Julia simply isn't in love with him._

_2) She cures him, and as her mission is accomplished, she collects her data and goes in search of other vampires to cure._

_3) She simply gets fed up that he's not in love with her and goes off to enjoy the affections of a man who does._

_Why none of these are employed remains a mystery._


	3. Chapter 3: Josette Speaks

Chapter 3: Josette Speaks

Well, perhaps not Josette, but as he knows me now. And when I say he knows me, I should describe all the corners and crevices… of not just my body… but my very soul. For we are all one, when it comes down to it. Though I'd love to describe just how it's ALL been explored.

As I've been made to look upon so many people, it isn't so difficult to reconcile who I am with so many others. _I've_ had to peruse the darker aspects of human nature, both as a waitress and between other worlds. You see, I _do_ understand other people, and as my husband says, I don't like to be idle.

But how can someone of so little complexity as **_I_** be of any use to anyone? Well, I must take some umbrage at that assumption. I've had to re-live other times as myself. So, you can imagine, that kind of harsh reality can make me pretty unhappy in others assuming its worth-less-ness. Though, when it comes to this town, I don't mind so much as long as I can help everyone. And from what Mr. Loomis has told me, they all appreciate what I might be able to do here.

And yes… sometimes I just want to wrap Mr. Loomis in my arms and kiss him tenderly on the cheek, and perhaps I have, but when my husband looks on, he doesn't mind so much. We're all friends here, aren't we? Besides, there's another girl coming to see Mr. Loomis soon. We believe she loves him and he'll be surprised at how he feels about her. That strapping fellow deserves a mischievous girl… and he's going to get one if we have any idea about the matter.

However, I haven't had a chance to tell MY story. As you know, I did send a glance toward the lover I've been waiting several generations to have. And perhaps, if I hadn't gone through that hypnosis, I may not have known. But I _did_ want him, _before_ I knew all the rest… and afterward, when I had time to reflect, and Barnabas has time to prove he was worth forgiving… I was happy to find out he was able to _prove_ other things to me.

Hmm… and what was that? You have obviously wondered. Well! Oh, the length… the breadth, the ability to please my insides. And truly, some make movements from side to side as I know in my past lives… but him? No. He needs to do NONE of this. It's all his own precious beauty that shows me on the inside, that all we need is a simple flow from Him to me. It's all I need. His love is wide enough, and I am patient to explore what he has to offer. … Of course. Hmm, yes. He's obviously _endowed_. We all knew that, of course. Why else were we all in love with him? I am willing to share, hence these memoirs, you know. Why else would I be telling you all of this?

How much DID I really attack him, as he described? I'm afraid he overshadowed his own lust in describing mine. He was a bit docile, I admit, but he failed to describe the array of avid caresses I attended to his torso before soaking my mouth in the blood of his hips. It was obviously a sweet torment to him, I confess, but nothing as to what I felt then, when I knew we were to be joined at last from that moment.

You see… he'd waited more than one lifetime, but *I* had waited three… and that's a LONG time to wait for such yearning. He did nothing at that point and I guided him in… and you may _never_ know the delicious cringe on his face when I enacted it all. Of course, he made a lunge for my chest and all surrounding, as I did in kind. There has never been enough time to probe every particle of each other.

And yes, the painting _did_ fall down… and the frame was lightly singed from the hearth fire, as we were. But I've been considering having a new one made anyway, now that I know all that I am and have been. And he's been wanting that as well, not from such strong desire, but a quaint and subdued curiosity. Still, I was very proud when I could relax and he could take over, and that was how we were thrown against the wall and my old and tormented portrait fell. And I _did_ laugh.

I _have _been so tired of being objectified.

Although, when it comes to that, I have no objections to him fondling my parts, or biting at my ankles, or kissing me all over as I've so ever waited to experience. And as I've responded in kind to _him,_ as well. It really has been a LONG time. And when it comes to _long_… I do tell of some gratification he has in this regard. (As afore mentioned.) It's helpful, considering what a complete fool he's been. But I still love him dearly. I only wish he'd been blessed with more street smarts when it comes to these things. But that's all right… I shall _teach_ him. Of course, in my current capacity, I'm the only one… who can.

Still, that might only be because I've had this most recent life-time. As I've told him, perhaps I was so wealthy the other two times, and poor this time around to understand where it would be that monetary help would make the most impact. When I explained that, after we'd imbibed on each other, do you know what he said?

He said, "If my wealth can make any of that easier, it's at your disposal."

"How can you do that?" I asked, "Simply giving me _all_ of what you own… like that?"

And he answered, "Well, you've already given me… _yourself_."

.*.*.*.*.*.*

_And of course, that last bit of dialogue was all I was shooting for when I did the visualization that came out from the first chapter. Clothes off, it's rather M rated. Clothes on it's simply an observation of a marriage vow. _


	4. Chapter 4: A Broken Bed

_The song lyrics given before the prose in this chapter refer to a deep passion and aimed toward this version of Josette Dupres, but the main point of it is the idea of a purple rose. I heard the song and thought of Lady Hampshire or Kitty Soames' purple dress seen in the 1897 period. It seemed beyond dazzling to leave it out. _

Chapter 4: A Broken Bed

[HOUSE OF LOVE

PKR (Purple Killer Rose)]

_Baby, you're the only thing_

_A jewel upon the dust, a cavity to fill_

_A hill upon a hill, a cross upon a cross_

_A deeper richest red, a purple killer rose_

_And I rise and climb away, a fist through any calm_

_I shower you in rain… as you watch the world through my eyes_

_The fruit within my hands, the soil beneath my feet_

_The siren of my glow, the trouble in my sleep_

_Baby you're the only thing_

_A trader on your own, curator of your role_

_And with a plan I run away, I touch the torch of fools_

_I'm running up my debts, I just return to you_

_And I'd rather know you well... than see you in a car_

_You said you loved the dark, when you see the world through my eyes_

_I'd rather know you well, you push me through the walls_

_Your head is such a gain, baby you're the only thing_

Did not I venture to disclose what I and my beloved might encounter during our second act, after I'd discussed and displayed our undertakings for the first? Well, She made no time of waiting for me to make the first move and feverishly disrobed me, as I did to her in kind. I must confess it was a scintillating experience, feeling her fingers along me, unbuttoning my shirt, trying to bring me so much closer. Then she was a little distracted.

There were a few gratings upon the doorknob, which she had to step lively, half-naked, to check. Of course, it was only a ghost of a sound, but it was just as well that she turned the key in the lock, as I would in due course turn upon her lock, as it were, with my key… I was _waiting._

As I saw her crouch down to make sure, I took her beneath the joints of her shoulders, and carried her back to her bed, and was intent to fling her there, if she hadn't already caught me somehow and we both landed strangely akimbo upon each other there. She continued to shudder in giggles, and grab me at the waist. _God, how I love Her!_ And then I kissed her to express it, and she reacted in kind.

I have mentioned her laughter before, but perhaps it was more of an exhale of titillation. I must wonder why I so seldom had these pieces of furniture replaced after over a century, for at this point, our rollicking ecstasy broke the frame of her sacred bed.. Not that we stopped to investigate any trouble. It had fallen down, and we were depressed within the cage of it physique. As we collided and punctuated our love, we breathed over one another and convulsed with a lustful happiness. I continued to express my love on her insides and She advanced herself around me. As she did, she grappled my neck and almost forced me to kiss her, though I was never struggling, I let her invite me there. From where we were, embraced with arms, legs and lower parts between us, we had to endure the fact that… eventually, these springs and furnishings would _definitely_ require a refit.

What I delighted in was that, when I off-handedly mentioned this during our love-making, she said, "Oh, perhaps… even if there are new things applied here, Barnabas… we'll just as soon… _break them._" Ha! And wouldn't we, though? After all, we were immortal now and would be bound to each other longer than any other couple, and with good purpose: We had a family to watch over. There was no reason to engage in creating one of our own… although, here we were, in the act of _trying_.

Though she had done her part of guiding me into her, and oh the sweet bliss of Her doing so… I have to say her method before of being always on top of me was a vigorous act to follow. There I was, straitening my wrists and keeping myself upright in order to resist totally crushing her, not that she may have minded that. It was difficult though, especially with the way she kept distracting me… wrapping her legs around my tailbone, blemishing my torso with her claws, and as we reached to kiss each other in this… I had the worse difficulty in restraining myself from completing the act… as every man ought to know. I wanted to be sure my darling was satisfied.

Still, She saw this and told me, it was all just as well. There would be other occasions… _Several_ other encounters in which my darling bride and I would consume one another… so… if I needed… I could replete myself into her as many times as I so desired.

_This scared me._

She may out do my stamina if such contemplation kept up between us.

And… she saw this… and… she smiled devilishly. Again, I was afraid of her… but delightfully afraid.

Then it _would_ be finished, for she softly scratched along my arms, then raised her legs higher and higher, until her feet were over my shoulders. Oh, Josette, _my, Josette,_ how could you know all of this? To give me so much pleasure?

How one could go deeper into any woman, I may never know, _nor_ do I wish to.

All I know is that it was over before I could even blink and again she saw in me the foolishness of the innocent. Yes, I had had one other lover. But my Josette, in this Maggie, had lived three life times and knew more lovers than I. To which I bless her devotedly. I do need such instruction, of course. And… considering my own wedded bliss… I _will_ have that instruction in time…

I was undermined by her and her embrace, letting myself go within her and as I came down to be by her, side by side, she stayed fast to my lips, holding on to any delectation… and… I _let_ Her.

As we stroked each other in the ruins of her bed… which I _would_ have replaced, of course, we gently laughed, and gently kissed. I did love seeing her and watching her brown eyes shine, but with all that had come before, including ourselves, it was a relief when the candles finally flickered down and expired and all we had were the embers of the fire between us.

With our foreheads compressed, and our arms around each other, we slept… at last.


	5. Chapter 5: Other Reactions

Chapter 5: Other Reactions

As you likely know, considering the long wait my employer, Barnabas Collins, has had in winning the heart of our mademoiselle, there has been much… erm… vigorous activity at The Old House. When Mr. Loomis and I first heard the racket we were certain it was more belated relatives come to haunt the premises. Then we heard what we were sure were voices we already knew… in ways we hadn't quite heard them before.

We listened at the stairs and then had some blemishing to do ourselves. I stepped to the door, intending to explore the old shed Ben Stokes of long ago had left in apt condition.

"Mr. Loomis," I said, "do you recall how to play Backgammon?"

He quickly followed me with the embarrassed but eager words, "I dunno and I don't care. Just show me how, an' I'll get the jist of it soon enough."

So, one can imagine that he's become quite proficient at the game of Backgammon what with all of the new ruckus going on lately.

One evening, the good doctor stepped toward us as we had just exited the front doors.

"Where are you two off to?" She asked, not so interrogatory as in previous years, though seeing our faces, she did have a more stolid curiousity than usual.

"Well, Doctor Hoffman," Mr. Loomis stammered, "we've been takin' to playin' a lot of Backgammon in the old shed lately and were just going off there again. Want to, um… well, join us?"

"No, thank you, " she answered, "I wanted to see—"

"Oh, well," I interrupted, blocking the door. She interposed that familiar look of suspicion I'd gotten so used to in earlier days, "I don't think now is the best time."

"Oh?" she asked, lengthening the word, "what are you two hiding from me?"

"Heh! Nothing," said Mr. Loomis, "it's more like what we're hiding out from!"

"Well," she asked, "there is something that's unnerved you two and I aim to…"

That was when a sharp cry came from an upstairs window.

"What in heavens was THAT?" she demanded.

"Well… ya… ya see, Doctor Hoffman," answered Mr. Loomis, "they're kind of busy."

"What? Have those two got some poor victim up there or something? Who are they after?"

"Each other," I said, at last.

"Oh… oh? Oh!" said our doctor, "oh, good lord… AGAIN?"

"Yep!" nodded Mr. Loomis.

Doctor Hoffman sighed in exasperation, "I know it's been a long time for him but this is _ridiculous!_ When are they going to leave each other alone?"

"Heh," laughed Mr. Loomis, "maybe we should purchase some cows so they can come home."

Doctor Hoffman scoffed, "Sheesh! And I thought the Professor was repressed the way he's been pawing ME! Not that I mind… wait… forget I said that."

"We WILL," I answered, "besides, Mr. Collins isn't the one who's always making the advances."

"You mean… it's HER? Is she trying to _wreck_ the old man or what? I must say I'm thankful that I'm NOT a gynecologist!"

"A what?" Mr. Loomis inquired, not hearing.

"It doesn't matter," Doctor Hoffman exhaled, "Still, why always at night? If they're worried about getting sunburned in their immortal condition or something why not do this kind of thing during the day?"

"The cellar isn't exactly the most romantic place in the world… especially for her." I answered.

"Tell me about it!" Mr. Loomis echoed the sentiment.

"Well, can't they get lead curtains or something?" she suggested, impatiently.

"Oh, yes, Madam," I said, "I've already ordered those."

"Good! I hope David hasn't been over to hear any of that noise." She stated.

"Well," Mr. Loomis chuckled, "he just thought they was jumping around on the furniture and I have to tell ya, I wasn't about to correct the fella."

"Trust you for that, Willie!" said the doctor, "I just don't understand where she's gets such an appetite for all of it."

"Perhaps because she's young?" I suggested.

"P'sh!" she responded, "or it's her previous life as a man getting mixed up with her feminine desire and taking a sky rocket through exploration."

"Are you going to prescribe a sedative?" I asked, which was likely more sarcastic than I meant to say it.

"Hardly," she answered, annoyed, "they have GOT to run out of steam on this insanity."

"Why?" I asked, "don't you find it healthy?" I inquired.

"Healthy once in a while, heck even twice a day in some cases, but it's as if every time I come over to see either of them… they're always up there going _at_ it!"

"Wanna leave a note?" Mr. Loomis giggled.

"What? Another one?" she asked, "No. _And_ I doubt I could send a letter. I don't believe the postman comes by anymore after hearing that racket."

We stood around in the semi-silence, trying to pretend we heard nothing, even at that distance.

"So, how about it, Doctor Hoffman?" Mr. Loomis asked, "want to join in for a game of Backgammon?"

She sighed heavily and then straitened up, "You know? How about we go into town and I buy you gentlemen a beer or two. Then you can buy me something in kind. Sound like a plan?"

"Most agreeable, Madam."

"Sure, I'm game," said Mr. Loomis.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_As you might see with this chapter, the added butler from "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" is still employed here. That story in revision is still up, but likely unseen via the cross-overs. Since it's a League of Extraordinary Gentlemen type affair, I decided I'd try out the first episode again with the added scenes and see how it did. What with the podcast downloads on Archive starting to slowly climb, the text version may not be desired, but one never knows. _

_The trouble with "Pit of..." is that with all the humour it's been a struggle to know if anyone is laughing and if so at what? So that's been the kind of long confusion of a stand-up comedian trying to perform in front of a blank audience that won't audibly laugh or smile. Anyway, please review this one! (And if you're interested you can still find the other one through my profile or the Dark Shadows cross-overs section, located above the regular Dark Shadows column at a link in the upper right hand corner.) Peace &... obviously for this story... Love. :)_


	6. Chapter 6: All of Us

_I have a nagging suspicion this was presumed to be a Collinwood orgy considering the title of the chapter. ;) Ah, well, I'm sure someone could write that. I'm not quite into that 1970's key exchange game, though._

_However, "In The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows", I have found Kitty Soames of 1897 to be a necessity while going down a condensed version of the original Dark Shadows storyline. In my story, Maggie remembers all three lives in chronological order, whereas Barnabas does not. His travels go from 1795, then 1967, and later he reaches 1897. Having Maggie regress into past lives chronologically would make the story work. _

_In "Pit of..." her memory urges that this Barnabas can be forgiven, because she remembers him working for the greater good in 1897, though he hasn't experienced it yet. She knows when that does happen and he returns *that* is the time to allow him absolution. So, the Kitty Soames life time becomes an important point in his gaining that forgiveness. _

_And, as shown here in these vignettes, he succeeds. :)_

Chapter 6: All of Us

I must say, my dear friends under our employment were rather quick in replacing the wrecked furniture my bride and I had so heedlessly destroyed in the eruption of our long awaited trysting. I do bless them for being so understanding… but then again they are men, I suppose they would have to understand, yes?

Oh, and my damsel does show me how full of fire she can be. I've dwelt in my thoughts on our Aunt Laura and wondering if with how fiery she has been – would all of her husbands know any comparison to this sweet Margaret? I shan't ask them, but merely contemplate.

What my beloved continues to show me is intoxicating. Although we do heal quickly, she has made an effort to drink out of as many places as she can from my body. The neck, of course is easiest and the rush of adrenaline sparks through my spine, and flows along my limbs, reaching from my vitals to a tenderness in my toes. This sensation proves to enhance all pleasures and I must bring my hips closer to hers, raking down her back and resting my hands upon her pelvis to join us in even more smarting movements.

She inhales through her nose, but does not quit drinking from me and responds with her own gestures below, as well as searing my chest with her fingernails.

After all my past tormenting, what a relief it is to see my _own_ blood moisten her lips as she breaks free from my throat, smiling at me before thrusting her kiss on my mouth. I have been learning how to hold back in all of this intense love, though she still surprises me and makes it all so burdensome to manage. It has just been _too long_ for both of us to contain our desire and she has more than one individual longing for me. That could make things rather _more_ repressed on her end than on mine, you must allow.

"Oh," I breathed, "with what you're doing to me, can you _truly_ have forgiven me?"

"Hmm," she answered, between kisses, "perhaps mostly- but you realize… I _will_ be needing to punish _you_ to get some of my own back."

"Please do," I said, holding her face towards me and pressing my lips over hers repeatedly, "I shall never underestimate you again, my love."

And so she drank… from my wrists, from the outer side of my calves, from the side of my stomach, indeed from my own breast.

When she turned and reached to massage my foot, scratching at my leg while feasting on my ankle, I drew myself to delight in the length of her hair, running my fingers through the tresses and softly exploring the form of her back, the beautiful contours of her shoulder blades, the shallow concavity in the lower portion between her sides and then found myself suddenly up on one of these edges. I _must _taste her blood, as I had tasted _my own_ on her lips.

She breathed and moaned excitedly, chaffing behind my ear and along my skull with her nails. And in this action of mine I knew what she'd been trying to do when she drank from me. She was attempting to harness my spirit – to find something in the matrix of our blood wherein our souls could meet… as I was now finding myself do.

With our heads at the foot of the bed, she was beneath me again and were joined once more, colliding with each other and so enfolded, it finally struck me that not only were my three lovers within her, **_I_**_ was as well_… And overwhelmingly, the four of us were as one… and all erupted upon **ourself** simultaneously… glowing ever afterward in heart and compassion.

.*.*.*.*.*

_The Kitty Soames encounter of 1897/1795 was so brief I can imagine a 1960's housewife coming home from a tropical vacation only to discover the gorgeous 1897 on Dark Shadows suddenly lambasted with these bizarre Leviathan weirdos. Picture her rushing out in her curlers, hairpins trailing behind, to ask Selma next door what the heck is going on? :S_

_Of course, the teenagers likely knew..._

_Still it is brief. Kitty kept remembering being Josette to the point where she strangled Angelique with a vengeful relapse of judgement, then lost all knowledge again and was embarrassed and shocked. In this way I can see Josette being the kind who *could* attack, so these bedroom vignettes might not be so implausible. _

_Kitty was about to leave to keep from being pulled back into Josette's identity. Somehow she was lured to The Old House and Barnabas knew. Still, Kitty would go from saying yes to no and then finally when Barnabas flat out proposed, she desperately accepted._

_And *again* "Oh, I have to go do this other thing first..." P'shaw! Uh-huh... :/_

_So, Kitty paces in Josette's room, likely biting her fingernails down to the cuticle in anxiety of waiting, suddenly has Josette's wedding dress on, morphs into the portrait, which later Barnabas joins her and then suddenly they're back in 1795 but separated. It's episode 884-886. And later on so much teamwork ruined by those pesky Leviathans... _

_And since no one is reading this anyway I think I can safely give away the plan that... well... I have another Doctor lined up for them! :)_


	7. Chapter 7: Willie's Wounds

_This came out of some re-investigating I did on Willie Loomis' experience trying to warn Maggie Evans in "Dark Shadows". If anyone recalls, he was worried for her safety and ran to the Evans Cottage to warn her. As a result he was shot by the police who lay in waiting to discover her kidnapper. (And shot at least five times. Yikes!) He was in the hospital quite a while from these injuries before moving on to Wyndcliff Sanitarium. When he returned on the original program, to my knowledge, it was never discussed. This was why in my story "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" I addressed that between Willie and Barnabas. Both that scene and this one have been a struggle to unravel, so please review! Thanks._

Chapter 7: Willie's Wounds

When he explained to me the dream he had, I feel I cannot express it in his words, which are usually small and adequate, but hard to translate to anyone later.

What Willie Loomis told me was both tangibly erotic and horrifically sensual. Why would anyone want to tell this to a working professional? One would rather tell of this to a friend. And such, I suppose, I would be.

As we sat in his shabby quarters, of which I kept suggesting be changed and he insisted not, Willie Loomis explained to me, shakily, what happened when he was moved from the hospital to the sanitarium, a place we both knew well.

Perhaps it was a drug induced stupor that caused him to imagine this, or the shock of all he'd gone through. But that nurse, was as kind as any could be, from what he told me. This is why I've made the effort to reach out to her for his sake. And from what I've gathered, she's not taken undue notice toward him. He wasn't making up any flicker or gleam between them. But still, what he described terrified me. For all that, his wounds had been on my account.

My fear comes from what he said; he isn't sure if it was a dream or not. But the risk of infection on such a plight would be a concern, especially by one in the medical profession, which is without any doubt… her. He had to remain on his stomach many long days and nights to heal from bullets so pummeled into him… and, as he said, there were doors opening and shutting, lights flickering, darkness and shadow, the inability to know the difference between day and night, and for some reason, not a clock in the room that he could see.

Still, he did heal… but as he healed… something slowly took place, in arcs of time he had to cobble together in the end, so that it was like a long string of images that came in sync to form a single fantasy that fed the psyche into a shorter span of time, as he fumblingly expressed it later.

It was a moistness on his back… a warm moistness. A smooth probing that awoke him in the half light, a kissing sensation that poured over him, as a soft hand gently stroked the back of his head and neck. I could not ask him if it really was truly a dream to him. I could only pray that it was not. Some_thing_ or some_one_ was genuinely trying to sooth him, and I thanked heaven for it, even it was only an inner realm of his subconscious.

It had to be a woman, the lightness of breath that he described, the slimness of touch, the echo of sweet lips upon his ears. It stimulated him in all his uncertain mobility. It had to be more than kissing she did, as he had to describe to me that thick moistness trailing along his spine, warm but not watery, with the coolness that comes later when the air slowly moves over each damp area. Again, from what he was telling me, could it really be a dream? And wasn't this someone that had spent so much time with him? That discussed her smaller interests? That was so pleasant to us when we came looking for him?

She could hardly massage his back, as it was so tormented with the muscle splitting damage, torn skin and the metal that had to be removed… but _She… _according to what he experienced, or perhaps only dreamed, so lightly suckled and licked on those areas, something loving and painfully sweet. Someone, who'd known him and wanted to know him more… someone who tried to face him in the dark, but whose face he could barely make out in this memory of it now.

"Did she never kiss you, Willie?" I asked, "Didn't she speak to you, or look into your face?"

"Ya know," he answered slowly, "I thought she had… but then, I thought I felt I was… on her… and it must'a just been the bed itself."

"That's all right," I told him, "Willie, just tell me… did you try and touch… _her?_"

He did. He was certain he'd slipped his fingers along her jawline and they tenderly kissed. Then the way he described her lips, full and soft and almost candied, wasn't what I expected. Something just too vivid to be a dream.

That's when I knew, I _had_ to find her. His own description was too visceral, even for him, that **that** particular piece of the puzzle was only a fantasy to him? It must have happened. And then I remembered that old Willie Loomis… the mean and cruel imbecile that once snorted out insults and made improper passes at us all.

Did we ever give him credit for being able to change? And what had changed him? It was something terrible, I know, and hard to understand how something so awful, as his helplessness could alter that behaviour. Or was it also having to change who he was _around_ most of the time? Still, when I sat, listening to him, and comparing the two, there seemed such a stark difference. I'd think of one as brusque and unfeeling as a lover, not delicate in his attempt to caress another as he was describing.

"You… you… you don't mind that I'm tellin' you all this, do ya?" he suddenly asked. I hadn't realized we'd both been silent for over a minute.

"No, no," I answer quickly, "I understand. There are always times that you want to make sure you're not imagining things… or trying to decide what was real and what wasn't."

"Do… do ya think, it… could have happened, Maggie?"

"Anything is possible… especially around here, you know. But when it comes to that… are you sure it wasn't only her cleaning you with a warm rag on your back?"

He had that usual quiet snicker, looking down, "Maggie… wash rags don't 'xactly pucker, do they?"

"True… but, I suppose I've got to wonder how _you_ felt about it. Were you shocked? Or…?"

"I hafta tell ya… I got the chills, but… you know… the surprised kind… and then… the good kind."

I had to softly smile at this. Something in such a situation, that could be creepy on one hand, and beautiful on the other, seemed to fit Mr. Loomis. It had to be so beyond his experience. I found myself very grateful that in all that time someone had taken his pathetic form to her heart and perhaps could build his confidence, which he needed very carefully built up. Carefully, because I remember the cocky, un-sober Willie Loomis who was indifferent to the truth, as long as he could get something expensive out of it. I had no desire to see that man again. Who he was exploring himself to be, someone deeper, and thoughtful, was who I wanted to see, and when it came down to it, so did everyone else in a way. Who could object to such a gentle man, if indeed he _could_ be in the end?

"Willie," I asked, "you sound so unsure where this took place. Could it have actually been the sanitarium?"

"A'course it could… _if_ it happened, Maggie… like I said, everything is such a blur… except how she touched me… _j-u-s-t_ the way she pressed her lips on my back… ran her fingers through my hair… and…" he faltered.

"And what? Her shadow?" I asked.

"That's not the right word for it… I think… I think," he sighed, trying to come up with it.

I waited.

"The one thing… stronger than anything else I can remember about it."

"Yes?"

"Was… her… silhouette."


	8. Chapter 8: To Love, To Speak, To Name

_In "The Pit of Ultimate Dark Shadows" Sam Evans was saved along the story line by Tony & Carolyn swapping the portrait of Angelique with the portrait of Capt. Daniel Gregg from "The Ghost & Mrs. Muir." They bring it to him because it had stains and needed to be cleaned and touched up. When he's out of the room they notice the portrait of Angelique he's working on, decide they have to get rid of it, and leave Capt. Gregg's portrait in it's stead as they run away. _

_So Sam alters Angelique's painting, and with a vengeance this time around because he recalls not only a past life as Andre Dupres but some afterlife knowledge of what Angelique had done to Josette, his daughter in 1795. So both Sam and Maggie are reincarnations of those characters. Hence she'd switch back and forth from calling him "Pop" to calling him "Papa". (Fitting, eh?)_

_Later on Sam is also saved when the withered Angelique comes to investigate and demand her painting. Whoops! :) Tony & Carolyn took it away, and he doesn't know where so he doesn't have it and can't tell her anything. Plus, The Ghost of Capt. Daniel Gregg is hanging around. Capt. Gregg's character is the type of ghost who goes unseen and unheard unless he "wishes it". So he has powers to help and suggest certain things to people. Angelique doesn't know Gregg is there and in a way Gregg likely kept her from harming Sam, as she might just do out of habit._

_(And I have to admit, I still laugh at the lines in that encounter. When Angelique announces that the painting is crucial to her existence, Sam replies, "I don't blame you for saying so. *Anything* might be crucial to *your* existence at this point... I'd wager 20 supplements a day!". :D ...I know, we all likely have that as a standard in the 21st century, but I figured in the 1960's one must have been rather hard-up to be taking that many.)_

_Hence "Pop" is saved, and so here, Josette talks about him briefly and that he's still working on paintings and likely more inspired than ever._

Chapter 8: To Love, To Speak, To Name

I have to admit… when my husband returned from a trifling matter at the Main House of Collinwood… I had a few yearnings of my own I'd acquired. I'm sure his errand had something to do with a decanter and our Cousin Roger's machinations between some absurdity and his Sherry… for which we need look on with loving bemusement. As it all comes down to the essentials… Roger _is_ rather a gentleman when one gets to know him.

Still, I was looking forward to Barnabas's return… and I managed to get the other gentlemen away before he did. They sweetly ventured a few knowing smiles when I informed them of what I was after… Considering how big this homestead was… why WOULDN'T I wish to explore the avenues of love in all of its surfaces? And… with **Him**?

We'd slept on this Davenport together that I rested my back upon now, as I lay on these blankets before the fireplace … and… I _remember _walking in this door one hundred, seventy-four years ago… Seeing my people… seeing his people… and now that it was so much was quieter… if all the locks were secured, and the fireside lowly crackled… why **wouldn't** I wish to have some experimental time right here? Really? Why wouldn't I?

I had to giggle to myself… I wasn't sure if Mr. Barnabas Collins would be confused, surprised, or eager. I really had no idea. But I was curious. And I sighed…

Here it was that I'd been so disappointed and again, foolishly taken poison… but does anyone know what I was feeling or thinking at the time? What I'd been imagining in this room? What wild motions of love I'd entailed in my mind as I sat there waiting for what felt like forever? And surely, when one considers what I'd been through… I **HAD** been waiting forever… from one lifetime to the next… What a man… and a man one might not believe worth it… but he's always been to me.

After moving pieces of furniture with our two wonderful employees, I had this terrible feeling that from my various smiles and meaningful petting on the top of their hands… well… I had to wonder if they weren't driving off soon to something along the lines of… a house of ill repute… ? …or a theatre of lingerie damsels who danced around poles…? …or perhaps a certain movie-house in which… well, I'm sure you may be making up your own minds of where they went.

In Collinsport, there is a saloon of sorts, of course, we all know that… but perhaps I should be ashamed that I may have put ideas in their heads and led them elsewhere. What I would dearly love is if they'd only gone to the shed again for another game of Backgammon. Or they could have gone to see Papa about some more portraits. His paintings have truly been coming along. Yes, if they went to see him… That would relieve my heart.

Still, I had to enjoy the candlelight and the lack of any obnoxiously interrupting telephone to my thoughts. I stayed, with a bottle of chilled wine, resting on some cushions over blankets in front of the fire… and staring into it after I'd placed another log there. There were three now, resting cross angled over one another. "Three," I mused out loud, "like me."

I sighed… oh… how I'd always wanted_ just_ this. I sipped my wine and had about three books I was tempted to flip through and just kept touching the covers of while I thought, and stared, and waited. Of course, one of these books was by John Cleland, published in 1748. I tended to leaf through it at times, but that was usually _all_ I needed. I do love the ending line: "The paths of Vice are sometimes strewed with roses, but then they are for ever infamous for many a thorn, for many a cankerworm: those of Virtue are strewed with roses purely, and those eternally unfading ones." If my old friend, Angelique had read this, _could_ read it, I'd hope it would make all the difference.

Perhaps it was the lack of oxygen… as the fire is so likely to waft it away within itself and I kept thinking… what will he do when he walks in that door, turns to his left and sees me awaiting him in this state lying down among quilts and cushions? What will he think? But what did it really matter until the time came? Until… _I did_… I wondered.

Soon enough, I heard the door open and his footsteps… I knew they could only be his and his alone.

"So…" he almost whispered, "awaiting me, my pet?"

"Yes…" I answered softly.

You see. I wanted to be the lamb, this time. I was a little tired of doing so much work when it came to the dire necessities of love between him and I. In this moment… I was sleepy, which is perhaps why I'd somehow blinked awake… perhaps I'd been asleep, in fact… and I only noticed him now, almost naked and prepared.

I fluttered into my recognition. He was down there with me, draped with the blankets as though wearing his own cape like coat over his shoulders and myself with barely a stitch on as well. It could be that I faded in and out of consciousness and he'd already undone my clothing… or perhaps I'd removed them myself. Who can say? Wine can be a strong sedative.

Before the firelight, he wrapped the blankets around us and kissed me deeply and held the back of my neck and skull with a gentle clasp. I felt the weight of his chest and sternum in my hands, reached further up to caress his shoulders… and finally… somehow, without my own aide… he brought himself into me and I responded as delicately as I could. (We know how difficult that inhalation can be at certain intervals, don't we ladies?)

It was _less_ fierce this time, but somehow as passionate as before, if not more so. I felt myself closing around him, trying to respond to his movements with my legs upraised, but he rested his hand down on my knee and insisted I stop.

"No… Josette, not this time, please…" he said, strongly, yet softly, "I want it to last… don't overwhelm me. Let us remain together as long as possible."

He stroked my hair and face and kissed me all over as he said these words… and I understood. Perhaps I'd been too voracious… and also, perhaps it made little difference when all was said and done? We **would**, if we were lucky, have _all_ the time in the world for this, and that was something I had not listened to. We'd been waiting too long and been too eager… Not that we blamed each other for that. It was such a long time to wait.

"Don't you know that I love you? Don't you know that I want you?" He asked, even then slowly thrusting himself into me, running his hand up my thigh and squeezing my hip.

"But… you **_are_ **having me… aren't you?" I queried, in motion, "As I am… having you?"

"What difference does that make?" He asked, still not changing his stance, and we continued to envelope each other, above and below. "I still love you… I still want you… I still adore you… and I want to _know_ that you know this," he whispered in kisses along my neck.

"Of course I know it, Barnabas Collins… of course… aren't you showing me?" I answered in my kissing returns.

"Then stop forcing my completion, Josette Dupres… stop overpowering me to cease all I want to show you. Let this love continue as long as it can. So much I want to explore you and so much I want you to explore me. We've been too forceful on one another. Can't we understand each other here… especially in this very room… as you've so chosen to do this? "

Our hands reached to find all the spots on us that went untouched, stretching over sides and front torso and each other's backs.

"Did I?" I asked between kisses, " I only thought it would be a blessing of romance, considering all the hostility that's taken place in this room."

"I understand," he said, and then began to throw himself into me all of a sudden so that for a few minutes, that was all there was, and I reacted in kind. Trailing his fingers behind my legs, he went and rested his face between my chest. I took his head in my hands there while he breathed so heavily.

"You weren't unmindful, Josette… didn't you know?"

"Know what?"

"I've always wanted to make love to you in this room? To clean it of all the trouble and also because… I first saw you enter this house here… and how much I wanted you right then, when I saw you."

The rhythm of his love never ceased and I understood. Of course, what happiness and horror we'd shared here. Had I been sensitive to it or insensitive? Perhaps both. I didn't raise my legs, but I did bend my knees and rested my feet on his calves lower down. I wanted some further communication between us beyond the upper torso and our lips. Really… I **did** want us to have "knowledge" of each other completely. However… what I was coming to understand is that it would take a lifetime… _and what a lifetime_… what a pleasure and enjoyment to keep on… exploring.

"When you call me that… When you call me, Josette… do you know what I feel?" I asked.

"Tell me." He breathily responded.

"My heart… my hands…" I answered.

"And… Kitty," he asked, not ceasing to torment my innards.

"My feet, my spine, my throat…" I answered, breathing and writhing.

"And… Maggie…?" he slowly asked, still not stopping his movements, his kisses, his caresses.

"My mind, my head, my knees… " I whispered…

"But… _that_ one… you know…" he kissed and throbbed and halted all movement suddenly, staring into my eyes, touching my face, "And… When I ask you… **_DuPres?"_**

And then… the tears came down… and at last I said, stroking his hair, and his neck, as he was raised higher above… looking down… "Myself… all of me… all of it, I feel you… and all of me… my dearest."

He exhaled from his withheld expectation, a kind of slow delight. A strange ecstasy.

"Somehow… I was sure of that, DuPres… and I won't force my name on yours… for that one is the beauty of all that you are… and you know that… my dearest love."

In this moment, to my strange discovery, I found I was a happily married woman.


	9. Chapter 9: A Very Warm Night

_Very curious: as of 12/28/2013 this is the chapter that shows to be the most popular due to the stats. I have my own ideas as to why but I'm welcoming anyone to review and let me know their ideas as to how it might be a more likely repeat visit? The previous chapter still gives ME the jitters. I never thought that much talking during "the act" would hold so much relevance. Still, I do re-read this one and felt it was important... and of course, she would *have* to dare him to do it. ;)_

Chapter 9: A Very Warm Night

Tony Peterson and Carolyn Stoddard had been relaxing late one evening on a bench near Widow's Hill. As one can imagine, the romantic tragedy of that place can bring a kind of terror that sparks certain yearnings to those in love. Of course, they settled in from holding hands, to making out, to certain second-base activities… until… Mr. Peterson's eyes wandered toward the cliff and noticed movement, like two animals wrestling twenty feet from the edge.

"What is it, Tony?" Carolyn asked, almost out of breath, "what's stopping you?"

"I—think…" he raised himself back to sitting position and adjusted the lapels on his somewhat ruffled coat, "… there… is… someone over there…"

Carolyn sat up in turn and gasped at the sight. "Hmm, that's rather far away from where _we're_ sitting… but, even under blankets… I think I know who…" Her voice trailed off in uncertain dismay.

"Meeee too," Tony Peterson responded, "and I'm not… sure… we… should… be…"

"Watching them?" Carolyn said, beginning to smile, "well, it won't cool **us** off to do so, that's for sure!"

"I, well," Tony uttered, "haven't they been married for a while now? You'd think the honeymoon age would have tempered down at this point."

"Not with those two," Carolyn started to giggle, "They've been waiting QUITE a while, so I've gathered."

Tony looked to Carolyn and shared her amusement, "Carolyn Stoddard. You certainly are sounding mischievous right now. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Likely," she answered, "but let's just think it. Besides, I'm sure they'd hear us creeping up if we were to play such a prank. AND I don't have a whoopee cushion stashed away in my pocket, do _you_?"

"They must be out here for more than it being a warm night. Best leave them to it."

And, of course, Tony Peterson was correct.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The evening had started, much the same as most. David's studies had long concluded, and dining had commenced. Drinks before the fire at Collinwood had gathered a few of us to talk of old times… some bad memories, but more good ones that had been happening, which was such a comfort.

Barnabas and I slowly roamed back home to The Old House, and we caught a glimpse of Willie Loomis walking hand in hand with his sweetheart through the woods. They were so fetching, and clearing the air of those places that had been plagued with sacrilege and savage deeds. His final understanding of love, I thought, watching the two walking through the brush and trees was an amazing accomplishment I could only put to him.

"Well," said my Mr. Collins, "that is a sight. It's very warm tonight, indeed. Good to see him calming down."

"Or rather," I added, "getting worked up?"

We continued into the house, and sitting on the davenport, I expected us to simply hold close, and I to rest my head upon his shoulder. It started out that way, and he stroked my head. But something in that first kiss, when I turned to face him, lit a thrill of adventure and the next thing I knew, it had turned passionate. I wrapped my arms around his neck and shoulders as we went on and felt his hands massage the top most sides of my ribs just below my arms. It only made matters worse as I thought mad things.

"Somewhere else needs to be cleansed," I breathed as our lips parted.

"Where, my dearest?"

"Would you allow me my choice?"

"Anything, anything at all for you," he answered, stroking my face and hair.

"A bad place, a tragic edge by the sea," I said.

He seemed to stop breathing as he stared at me. An indefinable look crossed his face, "Maggie Evans," he finally said, "You can't mean that."

"Why not," I said, staring him down, "we've already kissed there."

His hands rested on my shoulders and he brought his chin in, looking up at me, "I don't want to disappoint you… but I don't exactly share your enthusiasm for it. Besides, it's dangerous."

"For us as we are now?" I asked, lowly.

"That's a lot to ask," he answered, just as low.

"You forget, _mon démon,_ **I'm** the one who's asking. And it's a lot for me to brave asking."

"You've always been brave, my dearest."

"And you haven't?" I kissed him, tenderly.

"One doesn't wish to boast," he sighed with a smile.

I took his head in my hands, resting two fingers around both of his ears, "I _dare_ you, Barnabas Collins. I _dare_ you to make love with me on Widow's Hill."

To this, I saw a blink, with some sparkle of anticipation. Then he threw a fervent kiss into me as his answer.

…

Of course I wasn't about to ask anyone to carry the blankets out there, nor was I going to ask him to carry them, but I managed well enough in my determination. He walked smoothly, cane in one hand and a small lantern in the other as he strode, hardly a frolic, but I amused myself with the idea of him as a boy doing so. I didn't want to go too close to the edge, but I walked to a spot where I'd held consultation with myself over all these events many times. He didn't know this. My coming here at any time after everything was sure to lace his thoughts with far too much anxiety.

I spread the blankets out as he stood there, sometimes watching me, sometimes out into the dark night over the ocean, and often when I looked up, there was that pained sourness I came to both adore and be uneasy about in his expression. I took the lantern and placed it nearby between two stones.

"Come down, now," I said, sitting sideways, knees bent and lifting my hand, "don't be afraid."

He took my hand, sloped down his cane with the other and kneeled before me, as though at the altar of something precious. "If I put this place out of my mind, perhaps all will be well."

"That's not what I want," I told him, "it has to be here. **We** have to be here. Or we won't have learned a thing."

A soft half-lidded glow came from his eyes. A full moon made this obvious as the cloud before it drifted away. (Hearing a wolf howl I had to repress a grin in thinking of Quentin. I hoped he was happy somewhere, too.)

"How to uncover ourselves here, my darling? Someone could come by at any moment."

"I know," I said, raising an eyebrow, "doesn't that excite you?"

"If _you're_ here to… protect me," he smiled.

"As I did by your sick bed ages ago?" I returned.

"Do you want me to be gentle?" he breathed, closing in for my lips.

"Yes," I exhaled, kissing him, "and… no."

It seemed quick at the time, but we were cautious. No need to pop off buttons and lose them in the grass. These starlit heavens knew at least one sock would go astray. We heartily removed each other's clothing between the blankets. When I removed his shirt and beheld his smooth shoulders I didn't want to wait. We kissed between articles undone, and he reached down between my legs to easily discover just how much my heart craved him then.

As the last piece was taken off and all we had between us and the air were the bedclothes I'd brought, we lay facing each other, me on my right side and he on his left. He stroked me along, from my ribs to my hips and down behind my leg, then began the process again and again, making me shiver. I took his neck and rested my thumbs along his jaw and tasted his lips on mine as he slunk his hand down again, but this time lifted my leg higher up and brought it over his. The agonizing fusion began as I brought my leg almost behind him, our parts joining slowly, and then at last, with a certainty most profound, we were as one again.

I moved to rise above him and he turned on his back to help this as we inhaled the salty air, cooler here, of course, than at home, but still a good night for this which was dearly needed on this very spot. We pressed together, back and forth and I thought of how much desire I'd diminished when I was so fearful and lost my way here long ago. But it had all come back to me again, this inner devoir to fasten myself to him as I was doing now.

Running my hands along his chest, I kissed and yes, nibbled and bit, and he responded, his subtle groans mixing with the oceans echo, splashing on the rocks below… rocks I'd known too intimately. Now, at last, I knew _him_ intimately instead. I met his lips and thanked all between worlds of spirit and soul for allowing this to finally happen.

I lifted myself above him to breathe in, hands on either side, resting on the blankets. He reached his hands up my back. I rested my knees on either side of his stomach. I felt his hands course up between my scapulae, then wrap the tops of my shoulders in his fingers and press me down, bringing us closer together again and again, and the inhalations became marked with more severity. That fluttery sensation arrested my innards and raced along my limbs.

The fear of those days, the pain of what happened was slowly replaced with this enactment of desire. I brought my arms around him and leaned my face in, stroked his face with my own and kissed him deeply. His arms around me, feeling him within me, we writhed upon each other in both sweet need and satisfaction. The waves collided as though in time with how we did, and I listened to the gulls make that repetitive call that once struck me as wild chatter, but all I heard in it now was laughter.

At last we rolled and he was astride me, darkly smiling, inly moaning, we continued blissfully, him pressing his mouth along my shoulders, my neck, my torso, I grabbing his neck to welcome this and feeling about his leg with my ankle. Our breathing shuddered. I looked to the stars, to the moon, to the night, lustily, lovingly, gratefully. At last, through two lives of disappointment, and another of some torment, I was finally home and with him.

We completed each other in a rapture divine and shaky. He halted, caressing me around the ear and speaking softly, "I understand now… a new experience, a new memory to wipe out the old and make this place beautiful… like you… Josette."


	10. Chapter 10: Willie TP's Collinwood

_I think I might tone down the biting here... Let me know... I also realise that the contraception bit is a little awkward, but I figure someone on this estate ought to be promoting safe-sex. It might as well be provided by our Mystery Woman. And sheesh, can anyone actually IMAGINE Mr. Loomis with a kid? Certainly gives ME the Willies... :S_

Chapter 10: Willie Toilet Papers Collinwood

**Thank you, Willie Loomis. That other couple did a lot to melt my frigidity, but _you_ were the one to take the first ice-pick and chisel it into my frozen heart. **

_Hello world, here's a song that we're singin'  
Come on, get happy  
A whole lotta lovin' is what we'll be bringin'  
We'll make you happy_

_We had a dream we'd go travelin' together  
And spread a little lovin' if we'll keep movin' on  
Somethin' always happens whenever we're together  
We get a happy feelin' when we're singin' a song_

_Travelin' along, there's a song that we're singin'  
Come on, get happy  
A whole lotta lovin' is what we'll be bringin'  
We'll make you happy  
We'll make you happy  
We'll make you happy_

Of course, this tale is too much of a delight to let pass without revealing certain shreds of it. When Willie Loomis told me about it, he _did _say it with his usual aplomb I still have a hard time translating, of course, but for some reason, every detail was explained as we shared some laughs over a glass of port and some candy bars. You see, there is just something about sex tales that we feel the need to express with a friend. And frankly, in _this_ town and on _this_ estate, we all need to make certain vents to our frustration and that includes the _good_ things.

Of course, the girl we can't give a name to right now, had come to express her loneliness and the bad things that had happened to her recently at her old place of employment. And was Mr. Loomis _ever_ concerned. I'm sure he was more than willing to give a fist in the face to the man who'd made her job so troubling. However, I _did_ tell him, that _our home_ was so huge, we would gladly allow her admittance. It would beat all to see her out of that boarding house and not only that, but I could *finally* get Willie to change his shabby rooms to something at least a little more grand. And what might be grander than Barnabas's old bedroom? My husband and I have found it almost implausible to cleanse that room with our love. There was simply too much hurt in that room; especially with my **other **husband haunting it so much. I leave it to Willie Loomis and his own sweet lady to do that job for us. But that's not what THIS story is about.

It was when they went for that first walk together, and had passed all the various places where he'd dug unnecessary graves, and people tied to trees, etcetera, etcetera, you get the idea. But as the afternoon settled, they came back and saw the brown paper bags she'd left beside the door of the Old House. Mr. Loomis had asked what they were. And she pleasantly showed him.

Of course, he'd professed that perhaps we might need all that toilet paper in her bag for the old outhouse some of us still bother to use. But she shook her head, "No, no, Willem," for some reason, that's what she prefers to call him, "this was for another plan I had in mind."

"What did ya have in mind?" he asked, almost coyly.

"Well…" she smiled slowly, "you and I are mischievous people, of course,"

"I know," he answered, "ya told me."

"So I thought we might… _toilet paper_ Collinwood."

"What?" he laughed, "_This_ place?"

"No, no," she responded, "I wouldn't even _know_ how to climb these columns. I meant the main house."

"Oh?" He smiled with a hand-rubbing surprise, "ya really mean that?"

"I thought it might help," she answered, "we need a little mischief that isn't so terrible, don't we?"

Willie laughed in disbelief, "How did ya ever come to know me so well?"

"Oh," she said, "you and I have known each other before."

…

"Oh, no!" I chuckled, "and that was _just_ the start?"

"Yep, Maggie, it was… are ya sure ya want to know the rest?"

"You can't leave it down to that, Willie Loomis," I told him, "I didn't encourage this for _nothing_. If you want to tell me, I'm more than willing to hear it."

And so he continued…

…

They raced through to a room where they could reach the roof of that house. I think Mrs. Johnson came out with some curious wonderings that they ignored and of course she just shrugged. We _all_ know that Mrs. Johnson is ready to expect any oddities passing through the doors. I'm not surprised she didn't pursue those two.

And so they found a window, climbed out it and up to the roof, bags in hand, ripped off the cellophane wrapping and proceeded to fling rolls of toilet paper all about the outside walls of what paupers what might call a palace but _we_ all call Home. With all the stomping and laughing on the roof a window opened and Roger called out, "What on earth _are_ all these shenanigans?"

At this point he saw the tissue flowing effusively and laughed himself into approval, "Oh, go ahead, Mr. Loomis! Have your fun! We'll have it cleaned by someone. Why _else_ have all this money?"

"Thank you, Mr. Collins!" called out our Lady of Love.

And then David climbed out the window and was brought up over a gable to join in the festivities. The three of them had the time of their lives with 42 rolls of cheap toilet paper cascading all over the estate, wondering what might happen if Elizabeth Stoddard might roll back in from her trip to England at that moment. And we all know whether that happened or not. Ahem!

At some point, our Willie was getting a bit hot for this damsel who had managed to touch his playful heart so dearly. David was seen carefully back through the same window as Roger caught him. Roger asked them if they'd like a drink with him. They declined, and Roger, _knowing_ what they might be up to next, accepted their answer and made good to get his son downstairs for some distraction, the better to dissuade a listening ear.

Of course, who needs blankets with this kind of excitement? They managed to kiss passionately while they removed clothing and even _then_ he just had to fondle her upper story, to which she made _no_ resistance but breathed excitedly. She told him, "It's been such a hard life for us, Willem… let's change that."

"Really?" he exhaled, excitedly kissing her, grabbing the areas all about her chest.

"Absolutely," she said, "unless there was something you wanted to do first?"

"Yes, there is," he answered, removing more articles of clothing as she removed his, "I want you to rest on your stomach."

"Why?" she breathed, continuing to kiss him.

"Because… I knew… it was _you…_"

"Me? Who did what?" she asked, as if she didn't know.

"I'll show yer," he answered, helping to turn her about on her stomach to the roof and proceeding to kiss her bare back… and then suckling it and biting as hard as he could in remembrance of what she'd done for him, in the same areas on _her_ that he remembered on himself. And _didn't_ she whine and repress groans of excitement in this sensual awakening? She'd **have **to do. He described her scraping the roof tiles in agony until a nail broke… to which he kissed it as lovingly as he could and she turned over.

"Oh no," I asked, "did you have any, well, you know…?"

"Well, Maggie," he answered, "she _does_ have a history of medicine," then he reflected bemused and looked at me, "well, don't yez and him do that, too?"

"No," I answered, "for some reason in our immortal state we don't need it, but I'm still going to be worried about you two."

"Oh," he said, understanding, "I get'cha, I get'cha, but yes, she definitely had a few of _those_ stashed away in her pockets."

"Oh?" I asked, intrigued, "How many, Willie?"

"Six, I think," he admitted.

I almost screamed, "_Six?_ What was she expecting? That's a lot to stow away on this kind of a date!"

He laughed, "Well, I think it was just some, some…"

"Over compensation?" I added, helpfully.

"Yep! Anyway… is this too much, Maggie?"

"No! Go on… what happened?"

"Ah," he laughed, embarrassingly, "well, she put it on,"

"She'd have to," I said.

"Oh and when…"

"When what? Don't leave me in suspense, Willie. What did it feel like?"

He collapsed on his bed as the springs shook, and he said, "Warm… it felt… _she_ felt… warm…"

I had to let out a happy sigh, "Oh, Willie, _warm_? Don't you know how wonderful… how poetic that sounds?"

"Never thought I had it in me, huh?"

"Yes, I did, Willie," I answered, "what happened? How did you not roll off that roof together and break your necks?"

"Oh," he awoke, "that was easy, ya see our feet were against one of the chimneys."

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

"Oh, well her feet were against that chimney and I was happy to have it there."

"Why?" I asked.

"Well… how else do you think I…" he faltered.

"What?" I asked in anticipation.

"Threw myself… into… her…" he finally stated.

"Oh!" I said, "Oh… oh, my…"

"Didn't think you'd hear that from _me_, eh?" he asked.

"Well," I answered, "I'd _hoped_ to."

"Really?" he asked, in disbelief, resting his head on his elbow facing me from his bed.

"Oh, of course, Willie… come on now…" I said, reaching my arm out, "don't you understand?" he took my hand, "That we want you to be happy, too?"

"Oh…" he answered in perplexed bemusement, "I wanted ta think so, but… yeh, know…"

"Willie Loomis," I said, "Please… _you_ know this… you _know_ we want this kind of thing… AND to hear about it."

He let go of my hand, "Well, then I can tell ya… it ended more… beautifully than I could have ever told ya."

"Oh?" I dared to ask.

"Yes… I… well…"a

"Don't be shy _NOW_, Willie! You have me rolling on your bedroom floor already!"

He brought himself to a sitting position on his bed, clasped his own hands and bent his head down in that usual laughter that was so appropriate for him, "Oh… I know, Maggie, I know… and I'd so often wished this between us…"

"Yes, but, you know, you have _her_ now… so…"

"Yes, yes," he answered, still laughing, with head down. "I threw myself into her… because… because…"

"She wanted you to?" I asked.

"Yes," he finally admitted, "and like I said… it was… warm… and I was… I dunno…"

"Sated? Satisfied?" I asked.

"Oh… nooo," he answered, "I wanted her even more then. I… I just couldn't get enough a'her then."

"Oh?" I asked, "what did you do?"

"I kept going… a'course," he answered, " and I… I … I kissed her everywhere that I could. I… wanted her all over… her stomach, her legs, he arms, her lips, her face… I just… suddenly… wanted it all…"

"And your foot?" I asked.

"Oh," he giggled, "my foot did overtime, I'm sure… I needed those bricks… to _know_… her…"

There was a long silence…

"Oh," I finally said, "Willie, that's beautiful… why are you stopping now?"

"Well," he finally said, falling back on his bed with a spring-back thud, "I don't know how to tell ya the rest."

"How you…" I dared.

"Well… _drove_ myself inta her?"

I laughed, relentlessly, "Yes! Tell me… how did you accomplish that, Willie?"

"Well," he laughed, "we _did_ have our feet against that chimney… so… ya know… I used it."

"Oh?" I asked, "you used your feet against the chimney for leverage?"

He laughed, "Yeh, I did and yer know what she did when kissed me then?"

"I won't even guess," I answered, "_you_ tell me."

"She took her tongue and licked the roof of my mouth…" he said, dreamily.

"Oh," I said, "well… I… well… how did that feel?"

"Oh… Josette Dupres… you _know_ how that feels, don't cha?"

And that's when I knew… Willie Loomis finally understood, through the gift of love, who I really was.

"Thank you, Willie Loomis." I said.

"For what," he asked.

"For calling me that, finally."

"Oh… Josette…" he said, "how couldn't I_?"_

"Willie," I said, reaching for his hand again, and him, lying on his bed, accepting mine, "do you love her?"

He chuckled in that usual way he had, "Oh, Josette Dupres, how could I not love her? I want her now, even as I hold your hand. I want _her_… I want her to lay with me here. But you…. You… Josette Dupres… ya've helped to make this all possible… tell me… Maggie… will you help us? Will you always be our friend?"

I had to give a whisper echo of tears, I was too happy to shed more than that. "Willie Loomis," I said, "_that_ girl is moving _into_ this house!"

Willie Loomis laughed happily, taking his hand away, and crossing both hands over his chest, "I knew it… I _knew_ it… ya've always known us… ya've always known us_ all_… and I will happily take that other bedroom… if that's what ya want." He looked at the ceiling in retrospect of that incident he had with his lady love on the rooftop of Collinwood.

"Of course," I said, "I _want_ you to change rooms, Willie… but… did you… did you two… complete each other than night?"

Willie Loomis turned his head to his right to face me, "Margaret Dupres, _ye' know_… _we did_… in more ecstasy than I've ever know in all my life." Then he shifted himself to rest on his side to face me, "Josette Dupres, don't you know you've changed us all, _and_ me, with all the happiness now?"

"No," I told him, "it's not just _me_ that's changed this place… it's _you_, and your strong heart… Willie Loomis… that have changed us all." Then I stroked his hair and kissed him on the cheek.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Please review any chapters or sequences you like. I have more coming out of me, maybe less of Mr. Loomis because as much as I've come to adore him I'm not sure I'm getting him right, either. Still, I have combed the site to find this coupling, one that Barnabas was always woe-ing about and from what I've found it's only me and 2 other authors who picked up on it. (I'll be happy to be wrong about that, though!) However, I would like a dialogue about this because when I started I really wanted to know what the heck Barnabas was weeping about. As I've investigated it, I have to admit, "Ouch! Now I *know*!" :S ... So if you want more, please review!_


	11. Chapter 11: A Delicate Splendor

_This is a post-coital scene, with conversation explaining how our bride contains so much of her history in her mind. _

_As much reincarnation research provides, most children who experience it, tend to have flashes which drift away from them as they reach maturity. With adults going through regression therapy it's different. The flashes come and if they investigate to unlock them, reaching out to familiar settings and people, the other lives are often maintained and have relevance during their current life._

Chapter 11: A Delicate Splendor

I have wondered in my thoughts of this Josette, and how she manages to keep herself so well put together. So one night, when even our passion hadn't tired us into slumber, I asked her.

"I suppose," she began, slowly, lying upon her back, "it's a little like when an amnesia patient remembers themselves. And… it helps, that all the surroundings are the same, though seen in a different light, with separate circumstances…" and then she gave out a trickle of little gasps and moans. You see, as she spoke, I'd been exploring her, tracing my fingers along her neck, then down her arms, along her ribs, kissing her left side in areas I'm not sure how to place. I'd been discovering she had some finer responses to all this _after_ the act. She moaned so happily, so beautifully, which both excited me and calmed me somehow.

"And so," I said, just as slowly, as I pressed my lips along her arm repeatedly, "you know… all about this place… and about… yourself…"

"Yes," she breathed strangely, still responding to my kisses as they reached the palm and fingers of her hand, "but… of course… oh… never… like this…"

I felt down and groped for her leg, but she made a small protest, "No, Barnabas, stay gentle, not so…"

"Of course," I answered, and proceeded, moving myself lower on her bed, to stroke her along her thigh and her knee. Continuing then along her ankle and impressed at a velveteen quality, as I gently moved along her skin. Then I came back up, and up, onward upon her stomach, staring all the while at any lovely contour and appreciating each one.

"Would it have been like this," I asked, feeling her along her bosom, then her collarbone, "back then?"

"Yes," she said, and then gave out a light gasp, "I can't imagine it having been any… better, my… dearest."

I reached up her neck and gently pressed her head to face mine. She turned her body on its right to reach for me as well. Feeling her lips on mine, a desire began to resurge down my vitals, but nothing I was intent to make good on. This kiss, sweet and long, was where we stayed for a sensuous minute or two.

When our lips parted, she exhaled, "So hard to believe sometimes, but, that's the reason it's all so beautiful, I suppose."

"There's too much to say," I whispered, and smiled, "too much to share, too many old memories to unlock," I hooked my arm under hers as we faced each other, and ran my fingers along her back as she continued to inhale, sometimes sharply, sometimes softly. Perhaps many women might react this way to tender caresses after the main ordeal was over, but all that mattered to me was that _She_ did. I was beginning to see how untouched these moments are… as I reached up her back and neck, my hand searching behind her skull and running my fingernails along it, up through her chestnut hair. Again, she closed her eyes and echoed sounds of pleasure.

"And… too many… new memories… to create…" she explained, opening her eyes. The fire from the hearth reflected in them, but not a harsh light, a precious glow, something to marvel me more about her beauty and soul. Ah, this key distinction, _soul…_ I wrapped my left arm around her and lifted her torso to topple mine in a slight cross angle. We held each other close, gazing at each other, simply, wistfully, and I found myself reaching to stroke her hair. Something in this look, this gaze, spoke words that had no definition, something infinite, dear and true. An indication of all that we had been, were now, and could be in the future.

She'd had her hand on my shoulder, then worked it to my face, tracing along my cheekbones, chin and sliding her thumb over my lips, giving me pause for a tiny smile. Then she took a spell to rest her ear on my chest and the hand that had been stroking her head, took this and held her close to my heart.

I listened closely, beyond the simmering fire and to the ocean waves. Those waves, from here to her island birthright, or the sea that she sailed over from her second incarnation. They were all one body of water in a way, weren't they? And that heat in Martinique, so intense, I felt the need to ask, as I'd likely asked before, "Josette?"

"Yes, my dearest," she whispered.

"Do you feel… cold here? In this climate?"

She brought her head up to rest her chin on my ribs, "I have been cold, but not anymore, not since I found my way back… to you."

.*.*.*.*.*

_Please review and give insight on these chapters. I have three more in wait and would like to share them. Plus I think with enough encouragement that bathtub scene will finally get finished. It's just stuck in my head and very slowly coming out. I really have had a dickens of a time trying to figure out where a clawfoot tub would be in relation to Josette's bedroom. _

_(And yes, even if you're just going through all the M rated material for a thrill, and aren't a DS Fan... might as well just join in the conversation, anyway.) With this type of writing being of no monetary gain, it is important to know that the reader is enjoying the result and possibly how. This does create more in the long run. :)_

_It's tough to come up with enough alternate words and descriptions for moisture to keep the story "flowing". :/ Thanks._


	12. Chapter 12

_Whoops! Nope, the new one isn't the one at the end, it's just above this one. I'm keeping this one at the bottom because it makes a good point and that catalog piece with Victoria is still funny. The new part is Chapter 11: A Delicate Splendor._

The Last Chapter?

**"A Day In The 1960's"**

_Dedicated to the memory of my dear friend Rich, who passed away December 4th 2013_

I do see. There are a number of missing pages. Perhaps our archivist knows wherein they've gone? Haven't seen her much lately. She's been investigating other necessities with dear Victoria, who of course, always was a member of this family. The two do spend much time engrossed in the details of this estate. How it does give me peace of mind. Perhaps they're both looking over the finer points and seeing which are too explicit, possibly, for this release. Ah well.

"Darling," says my Josette returned, "they could be making prints of them."

"By hand? Or that other invention?"

"Yes," she answers, "isn't it peculiar that the man who invented xerography left so much in the way of funding to promote the work in the study of reincarnation?"

"Why is that?" I ask.

"Well, one would think that a man with such an invention would have left money to… well… cloning or something of that nature."

Ah, now that I understand these things. I can see what she means. I've only _perused_ the essay of Dr. Ian Stevenson's "The Evidence for Survival from Claimed Memories of Former Incarnations". Apparently his work is something we too, must be grateful for.

"Of course," she continues, "I _must_ be grateful not to feel the need to hold anymore Tea Dances for the time being."

I need cast toward Her a deeply knowing tone, "Kitty…"

"Oui?" she answers, trying to confuse me. I have to laugh a little at this. As our archivist has told us, in the time she comes from, many people have several different names. Any confusion to my dearest, whom I still voice as a bride, it's simply more romantic, is relegated to an ease of comfort when all comes to surface in the truth. It took a lot for us to reach this point of bliss. Three incarnations to reach me… wasn't it obvious to anyone what was to be? It was to me as I went through time and experienced it. But still, we do have certain parapsychologists to bless for all of this.

And I'm glad to hear of this Dr. Stevenson and his work. It looks as if it will be a long series of investigations for him. And he never reveals his findings to be the proof, simply evidence. Of course, this is all well and in order for me… as I… have _my_ proof. And our journals, which could be disclosed except that there are several pages missing right now… or it could be our archivist is keeping them to herself. And I wouldn't blame her. They are rather heavy going. And I must admit, difficult to pen. My hand shakes even now over the details.

"We can't remember where the bathtub was," speaks my lady, "I want to say it was brought into my room, but maybe that extension had been adjoined to my room at the time. Can't you remember, Barnabas?"

"No, Josette, I cannot. I only remember…" I falter.

"Oh," she smiles, speaking lowly, "it _was_… rather… _wet_…"

"Yes… it was…"

"And…" she breathes, "those post coital moments… when I told you…"

"When I… explored you?" I whisper in her ear.

"Hmm," she begins to almost moan, "yes. Might… we?"

"Yes, my love," I tell her, "Let us… go… upstairs."

…*…*…*

When Victoria and I arrived at The Old House, we called up the stairs, then noticed our couple were beyond busy… presumably, considering what we over heard. Ahem!

"Hmm," she said, "let's sit outside and read that newspaper you brought."

"Good idea," I agreed quickly, it'll likely be a _while_."

We found a decent spot on a bricked garden planter a fair distance away from any noise. Victoria rattled open the paper and sniffed, "Oh… my…"

"What is it?" I asked.

"Looks like we just can't get away from the subject," she laughed, "This advice columnist got a letter… Seems a lady is extremely pushy to get her sex-toy business off the ground and a friend needs to know how to politely decline her gatherings."

I belted out, "Tell her to take her butt-plugs and SHOVE IT!" Then I proceeded to roll off my seat onto the ground and lost myself in riotous laughter. I noticed some time later that Victoria was _not_ lightly tittering as I expected, but rather shaking so hard with mirth as to nearly weep on the paper.

"You don't understand," she told me, seeing my surprise.

*I* don't understand? I thought. Wasn't that usually her line? But anyway…

"Peter & I were looking over that catalogue you leant us," she went on between chuckles, "He suggested trying those out and…"

"You told _him_ to take his butt-plugs and shove it?" I grinned.

"Practically!" she almost shouted.

"Well, I'm with you there, Vicky. Still whatever floats ones boat, I suppose."

After calming down more we looked over the etiquette columnist. Perhaps that would bring more sobriety out from our shared hilarity. She read the query:

_"Dear Agony Aunt: Let me begin with the worst of it (You would well be advised to brace yourself). I am 19 and have not written thank-you notes for holidays and birthdays for about two years now._

_I'd like to make amends with my family members who sent me nice gifts that I didn't thank them properly for, but I'm not exactly sure what the right course of action is at this point. Do I just send out thank-yous for the gifts I received this year and try not to draw explicit attention to how remiss I have been in my correspondence? Can I apologize for not sending thank-you notes in the past?_

_I'd like to acknowledge what they sent me before, but I'm sure I've forgotten some of the things I've received (which is horrible), and I don't want to make it sound like I'm ungrateful by omitting them. I also don't want to make it sound like I'm asking for gifts in the future or try to furnish excuses (I don't have any)._

_I really just want to apologize, express my gratitude and move on, but I'm struggling to figure out how to do that."_

Victoria stopped to reflect and then looked at me, "You know, this is all sounding a little familiar."

I sighed, "Victoria, what doesn't seem familiar around this estate?"

"True," she said, "but what I mean is, you and I have been doing a lot of work trying to get these memoirs accurate. On my end people are pretty grateful and help a lot, but it sounds like in the future you come from they don't know how to tell you."

"Okay," I said, "that's correct. Maybe the columnist has some good advice. What's the response?"

Victoria cleared her throat and began, _"Dear 19: You are not the worst. The worst are ingrates who, far from being repentant, try to cast blame on their benefactors for being so selfish as to expect any response to their generosity. In fact, your relatives have been especially generous in continuing to send you presents in the absence of responses."_

"Ah," I said, "that's a good point. I've definitely had people angry at me, mostly when I've shown alarm at their ruining my belongings."

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, a little desk, a pair of headphones… Long stories," I sighed, "Keep reading."

She continued:

_"Still, your record is pretty bad, and I am gratified that you are ready to make amends. You are, I presume, prepared to grovel."_

"Goodness!" I marveled, then reflected, "well, that's likely a facetious statement."

Victoria winked and read on:

_"Your letters should begin with enthusiastic thanks for the latest presents, then go into high praise for their past kindness. For the past presents that you can recall, write specifically about how you have been enjoying them all this time._

_Then comes the self-flagellation. The important part is to refrain from offering any excuses. Claiming to have been busy, even with examples of the demands upon you, only annoys people. It prompts them to reflect that they, too, were busy, but made time to send you presents._

_Rather, it should be about how ashamed you are not to have acknowledged their warmth and consideration, which means so much to you. I understand that this seems a grim task. But I promise that you will feel better afterward."_

Victoria folded the newspaper and rested it between us on the planter. We stared into the woods, and listened to the waves nearby for a minute.

"Why is it so hard for your people to talk to each other?" she asked me, "I mean, you said there are all these wonders in the future that make it so simple to communicate, once you have the knack of using the tools."

"Well," I replied, "we don't all want to bother with learning how to use the tools for one thing."

She was stunned, "But why not? They can do so much good!"

"It's often been a puzzle to me, Victoria. I took the time to finally learn how to communicate with people better, but by that time no one seemed to want to talk to each other anymore."

"I can't imagine a world like that. With everything going on in this day and age, it sounds like it's just going to get worse."

"No, Vicky," I said, "it does get better in many ways. But it is very lonely and aloof much of the time. Everything people are doing in your time period to make the world better gets rather taken for granted in my generation. The nice thing is less people are apt to be outright rude _and_ in detail, but we haven't yet found the way to tell each other what's good about one another specifically. Especially, " I had to heave a sigh here, "my own spouse. He reads books like he drinks water, but even he has a hard time really explaining what he likes exactly. I have to catch him laughing and then be sure to ask him before he forgets."

"Yes," she smiled, "I suppose it's much easier to hear it from someone in person. But from what you've told me, everyone is mostly using machines to connect and… in all of that time… well, they're not really connected at all. Those telephones you talk about sound awful, all static and no warmth?"

"Ah," I answered, "it's not just static, a lot of the words and sounds cut out. It's really muffled. I get the impression the people using them just pretend they can hear what each other are saying."

Victoria gave a laugh through her nose, "Sounds like how this place used to be."

"I know," I told her, "Still… I have hope. There is an intense amount of brevity, but perhaps I haven't found the right people yet to really tell our story to. It takes all kinds to make a world. Someone, quite a few people, I believe, are out there who want it and who want to discuss it and share what they enjoy about it."

"But," she asked, confused, "why do you want to stay here with us?"

"I want to see it through," I told her, "everything needs to be patched up and I need to find the way to describe it clearly."

"That's very sweet. Although… aren't there people in that future, in 2014, that you miss and that you love?"

"Quite a few," I confessed, "but they're scattered all over the country and some even across the pond, as they say. And they rarely make much of an effort to spend time using all those new inventions to let me know in return. So now, it's you and me, and these archives."

She took a breath, "All right. I understand. But… why here? Why us?"

"Well," I told her, "if I may paraphrase something you, Maggie and Josette told me almost two years ago…"

"What? How could all three of us say the same thing?"

"I think you'll get the gist of it, Victoria."

"All right," she said, "what did we tell you?"

"Like I say, I am paraphrasing and maybe adding something to it, but it's why I keep on here in this town. You see, for most of my life I've wanted a place where I belonged. A place where I could feel at home again… Feel loved again. And I found that place here at Collinwood… and with… you all."


End file.
